


Every Day Like Our Last

by SilverFlameAlchemist



Category: Enderal (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Awkward Kissing, Blue Eyes, Cute, Denial of Feelings, Don't Ask, Drama & Romance, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Explicit Language, Exploration, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Ficlets, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Friends to Lovers, Fun, Gentle Kissing, Getting to Know Each Other, I don't know, I'm in love with this character, Jespar Dal'Heartbreaker, Jespar Dal'Slick, Jespar Dal'Smooth, Jespar Dal'Take Me Quick, Jespar Feels, Jespar POV, Jespar just needs a hug, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Love, Making Love, Making Out, Making Up, Memories, Minor Violence, Mostly Fluff, Mudcrabs, Myrad riding, Neck Kissing, No Spoilers, One of My Favorites, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Partners to Lovers, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Rough Kissing, Self-Insert, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smooching, Story Prompts, Surprise Kissing, Swearing, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, i love this game, ingredients gathering, inspired by moments in the game, personal playthrough, pissing each other off, some smut, the author is a dork, those damn blue eyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFlameAlchemist/pseuds/SilverFlameAlchemist
Summary: "Personally? I like to live every day like the last--you never know what's coming around the next corner, waiting to take you down."A collection of moments shared and memories forged.





	1. Myrad Ride

He refused to admit the girl he found in some random _shrubbery_ was attractive. No. She was like a lost puppy, a cute animal that needed help. He was just looking out for a lovely young—

_No._

_Not attractive._

He quashed the urge to laugh whenever she left the path to Ark, waiting until she wondered back, usually looking pleased with herself and sporting a fresh injury. She’d come back with new equipment, flowers, and sometimes other ingredients he decided not to ask about.

When she came running back to the road yelling for his help, bandits on her tail, it was almost… He refused to say what it almost was, but he jumped into the fray to help her out.

The breaking point in his resolve came unexpectedly, when she first rode a Myrad with him. He’d paid the fee for them, climbing onto the Myrad first, helping her onto the back of it with a chuckle.

“You should hold on, little lady,” he teased as the Myrad stirred and spread its wings. “Might be a little rough to start.”

He arms shot around his waist as the handler whistled and the Myrad took off. She let out a yelp as they cleared the first mountain peak, peering around curiously at the surroundings.

“It’s beautiful!” she called over the wind, clinging to him a bit tighter as they coasted through a ravine.

She fit against him perfectly, a hand sliding into his, curling against his palm as a warm sigh gusted against his ear.

Suddenly the Myrad wasn’t the only thing on the rise.

They managed to land in one piece, Jespar hopping off the Myrad before he helped her down, hands carefully on her waist as he lifted her down.

“How was that?” he grinned as they headed toward the city.

“Amazing!” she laughed. “I had no idea flying could be so much fun!”

“Glad to hear it—it can be quite the rush,” he slid her a sidelong glance as she started to glance around, taking in the crowd and people. “Gotta ask, though, you planning to hold onto me that tight every time?”

She glanced back at him, and he was delighted to see a flush on her face, an apology on the tip of her tongue.

“Because,” he continued before she could. “I’m not exactly complaining, but, well… Beautiful woman clutching onto me for dear life? Rather distracting.”

She tripped on a cobblestone, and he laughed as he reached out to catch her, a hand on her shoulder.

“Like I said, not complaining,” he winked as their eyes met. “Just letting you know.”

“Oh, well, okay…” she muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”


	2. 4 Out Of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four times Jespar makes excuses for the Prophetess, and the one time she returns the favor.

The first time, Jespar has to think on his feet, the excuse tumbling from his lips before he properly has a chance to think it through.

The Prophetess had wandered off while Bushy Beard was talking, poking at bright green goo and staring at specimens in jars. She was just standing from a crouch by his desk when Bushy Beard poked his head back around the doorway, eyebrows knitted together in a glower.

“What in _blazes_ are you doing?” he demanded.

“Can’t fault her being side-tracked, with all this magical nonsense around here,” Jespar rattled off. “Even I don’t know what half of it is, and you must’ve told me a hundred times.”

The Prophetess had the presence of mind to look at least a bit repentant, offering Firespark a smile.

“This is all so new to me—magic, I mean—I get distracted so easily. Sorry, please, what were you saying? I caught just the tail end of it.”

Firespark grumbled and continued his rant, spouting off about the virtues of proper dedication to one’s path, while Jespar watched the Prophetess pocket something as she hurried to follow the older man through the arch and up the stairs.

“The hell was that?” he hissed, eyeing her curiously.

“Death by the Spoon,” she replied cryptically.

He opened his mouth to question her further, but she gave him the most charming, disarming smile, and he somehow couldn’t find his voice.

“Thanks for covering for me,” she winked.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he muttered back.

* * *

The second time, he at least had some warning.

He saw the way she eyes the horses at the stable: the tall, stately Darius and his smaller, more sedate companion. Despite the urgency with which Tealor had summoned them, she still got sidetracked by the big eyes of the horses and their pretty owner.

Jespar found that most of her behavior could be explained by telling people she was the Prophetess, or by explaining that she was foreign (people tended to accept that excuse without _any_ further questions), but today he found he was out of his usual patience and excuses.

She was cooing softly to the horse when Jespar stopped by the gate to the city, flicking an eyebrow at her as he folded his arms and waited. There was blood and grime on her—more bandits on her tail—too much to be overlooked by any _normal_ person, anyway, and he sighed at the display she was making.

“Mysir, is there… something we should be… doing?” the guard at the gate glanced between him and his side-tracked companion. “I could always ask some other guards to, ah, assist in… removing her?”

“No, no, no need,” Jespar sighed wearily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t mind her, she… she’s an odd one.”

She kissed the horse’s nose and patted its neck fondly before jogging back to Jespar’s side.

“Sorry,” she grinned guiltily at him. “I always stop to say hello to Darius. He’s just so handsome.”

“Any other handsome men you want to stop and say hello to before we continue our _very urgent business_?”

She blinked, canting her head to the side as a shy smile bloomed over her face. He flicked an eyebrow at her, ready for the list of names she would likely spout off, but was caught by surprise when she gave a different answer entirely.

“But, Jespar,” she winked, whispering to him. “You’re the only other handsome man around here.”

Jespar told himself the heat in his face was due to anger, not embarrassment, and managed only a frustrated sigh before he turned on his heel and marched through the main gates, the Prophetess grinning massively as she trailed along behind him.

“Wait up, handsome!”

* * *

The third time, he broke the promise he had made to himself to _not_ _make more excuses for her_.

He was determined to keep his mouth shut as she slipped off from their meeting with Firespark to pick _flowers_ of all things. He was going to keep his mouth shut until she slipped over a hill with a whisper of return, and then _did not return_.

After ten minutes, he realized the frantic hammering in his chest wasn’t anger, after all, but _worry_.

“Bushy Beard, hang on, I think I heard the Prophetess call me,” he clapped Firespark on the back and loped off in the direction he had last seen her in. “Won’t be a moment, we’ll catch up!”

Firespark started to shout something, but Jespar ignored him, searing instead for the Prophetess in the thicket of trees she had vanished into.

He found her at the bottom of the hill, flowers in hand, and she waved shyly up at him as he charged toward her.

“Where _were you_?” he demanded. “Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”

“Sorry, I ran into some wolves, it took me longer than I—”

“ _Too long_ ,” he interrupted. “What were you even looking for, anyway?”

“Alchemy ingredients,” she blurted. “I wanted to make some potions so I’d have extra for you, if you needed them…”

He wanted to be angry.

He really, _really_ wanted to be angry.

But then she plucked a blue flower out from the bundle in her hand and tucked it behind his ear, and he just _couldn’t_ be angry.

“Sorry I was so long,” she whispered. “Just trying to look out for you, handsome.”

“And I was just doing the same for you, fair lady,” he managed, taking a flower the color of her eyes and placing it in her hair.

She smiled, and his hand lingered against her cheek for longer than he intended. She leaned into the touch, leaned into him, and for a moment, he had the almost _uncontrollable_ urge to kiss her.

“If you two are _quite finished_ being so romantic and soppy, _we have work to do_!”

“Sorry, Bushy Beard,” Jespar called out without looking away from her. “The Prophetess was feeling sick—wanted to pick herself a remedy before we kept going.”

“Well tell her to hurry it up!”

“Thanks for covering for me,” she grinned.

“Don’t get used to it,” he grinned back.

* * *

The fourth time, he genuinely enjoyed thinking up an excuse to give.

He toyed with several ideas as he lounged in his chair at the high table and half-listened to Tealor prattle on about whatever plan he was about to put into play. He discarded several options before Lishari made a comment about their precious Prophetess being late, and Tealor halted mid-inspirational.

“Well where is she?” he demanded, glancing about the room before he directed his gaze to the Sellsword. “Dal’Varek?”

“What, you think I bumped her off, or something? I’m hurt!” he grinned.

“No, I do not—“

He stopped when a rather breathless Prophetess hurried into the room, skidding to a halt as all eyes turned to her. She flushed under the sudden scrutiny, and Jespar decided to take pity on her.

If in his own devious way.

“Have a seat, fair lady,” he grinned and pulled the chair beside him out for her. “We were just talking about you.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she bowed her head to the Grandmaster. “I just—“

“Oh, now, don’t throw yourself on your own sword on _my_ account,” Jespar interrupted, laying his arm casually over the back of her chair. “I’m mostly to blame for your tardiness, after all.”

She opened her mouth to correct him, but Tealor growled out a command before she could.

“Explain, Dal’Varek.”

“Well, it’s my fault, really. She just couldn’t decide what would look best matched next to me,” he looked back at the woman beside him, cocky grin securely in place as he looked her over pointedly. “She kept trying on outfits for me, and I _certainly_ wasn’t going to stop her.”

The table fell completely silent, even _Firespark_ managing to shut up for once, and then Lishari started to laugh. Calia giggled, hurrying to cover her mouth, and Sha’rim let out a long, low whistle.

“Jespar, you didn’t need to be so _explicit_ about it,” the Prophetess huffed, color high on her cheeks. “You could have just told them you kept me out late last night.”

“Enough,” Tealor interrupted as Lishari whooped from her side of the table. “Let us get back to business.”

“I didn’t expect you to _play along_ , fair lady,” he smirked. “I must be a bad influence on you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she smirked back as Tealor continued his speech. “I’m just full of surprises, is all.”

* * *

The first time she made an excuse for him, he hadn’t been expecting it.

Jespar was far beyond feeling the need to lie about or cover up his more… Order-Unapproved behaviors and habits, but there was something rather uncomfortable and unprofessional about turning up to a war meeting with the Grandmaster and his advisors while still under the effects of several different bottles of alcohol.

He didn’t remember if there had been Peaceweed the night before or not, but he was fairly certain there had been.

He was late, he knew he was late, but he had taken several wrong turns from The Dancing Nomad to the Sun Temple, and he refused to apologize for it. The rain had helped clear his head a little (and wash some of the grime away from his clothes), but he could still feel his thoughts drifting.

Drifting, specifically, onto the Prophetess who caught him as he tripped into the Sanctum.

“Are you alright?” she hissed, glancing about to ensure they were alone as she pulled him into a small alcove.

He blinked to clear his eyes, focusing too much on her warm hands as they held his face, the worry in her eyes as she looked him over, and the way her armor clung to every damn curve like it was its _job_.

By the Wise Hermit, he was _too far gone for this_.

“Fine,” he managed to grumble, closing his eyes as the world began to sway around him. “Fine, just. Just drunk.”

She sighed, and he opened his eyes to see a fond smile on her lips. There was no judgment on her face, no anger or disappointment. Instead he found understanding and… _entertainment_ , of all things.

“What did you do, drink the whole Nomad under the table last night?”

He cracked a grin and let slip a very undignified giggle, “Close enough.”

“Come on, drink this,” she rummaged in her backpack for a moment before pulling out a small crystal decanter. “It’ll help.”

“What is it?”

“Not liquor, that’s for sure.”

He snorted and downed the whole thing, making a face as the bitter liquid rolled over his tongue. He handed her the bottle back as he squeezed his eyes shut, his head clearing a moment later.

He peeked an eye open to look at her, the same amused, concerned expression from before still in evidence.

“Feel better?”

“If I say no, can we skip the meeting?”

She laughed as Lishari entered the door just behind them, pausing to look over the scene.

Jespar imagined it wasn’t the best moment to be caught; soaking wet and half-hanging off the Prophetess as they lurked in a shadowy alcove of the Sanctum, pointedly _not_ at the meeting they had both been summoned to.

“You two need a room, or something?” she asked, folding her arms as she waited for an explanation.

Jespar suddenly panicked when he realized he had no explanation to give her. No easy lie came to his tongue, no snappy one-liner to dismiss the awkwardness of the situation.

“We do, actually,” the Prophetess grinned, the hand on his shoulder shifting to his neck as she looked up at him, an arm suddenly snaked around his waist and _dangerously low_. “Mind giving the Grandmaster my best and telling him I had to go fuck Jespar’s brains out before he begged me any longer?”

Lishari’s eyebrows rose up her forehead as a feral grin spread onto her lips, “Sure thing. Want me to give him any other juicy details while I’m at it?”

Jespar started to protest, his face flushing with heat, but the woman holding him laughed before he could get out a single word.

“Nah, wouldn’t want him to enjoy the mental image _too_ much,” she winked to the other woman. “Thanks, Lishari.”

“Hey, you got it,” she winked back, heading toward the stairs. “Just be sure to get somewhere private before you start tearing each other’s clothes off, okay? Word travels fast around here, and I don’t want to hear any details that don’t come straight from one of you.”

Jespar waited until Lishari was out of earshot before he rested his head on the Prophetess’s shoulder, groaning, “Was that necessary?”

“Would you have preferred I tell her how you stumbled in here and nearly passed out on me? Everyone already thinks we’re together, there’s no harm done.”

“Wait, they do?” he pulled back to look at her. “Since when?”

“Your stunt last time,” she snorted.

“Oh, well, thanks for covering for me, then,” he laughed.

“Don’t get used to it,” she giggled.

“Can I get used to this, then?” he asked, mirroring her hold on him, pressing into her. “Cause I could see that happening pretty fast.”

“Well, everyone already thinks we’re together,” she teased back. “Might as well let the rumors be true.”


	3. Crabby Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Crabs?! You dragged me out of the Nomad for crabs?"

He could openly admit now that he found her attractive. It had stopped being a secret after the incident in the Sun Temple that he still refused to talk about. Lishari still gave them side-long looks, and Calia had threatened him twice now, but overall nothing had changed…

Except that _everything had_.

He could stare at her now, and not have to avert his gaze when she looked his way. He could stand close enough to touch her, and not flinch away when contact was made. He could put his arm over the back of her chair, and give her shoulder a playful squeeze when she said something he liked.

But most important of all, he could tell her when she did something he found inexplicably or inadvertently cute, and he didn’t have to pretend.

It did _not_ mean, however, that he wouldn’t give her a hard time about it first, though.

* * *

He was comfortably ensconced in the Dancing Nomad when the Prophetess suddenly burst in, ducking around the usual dancers before she appeared at his table, a bit out of breath and looking a bit… _embarrassed_?

“Hello,” she greeted.

“Hello to you too,” he chuckled. “Stay for a drink?”

“I can’t, I’m actually here to ask for a, um, favor.”

“A favor?”

He kicked the chair opposite him out for her, gesturing to it, and she plopped down with a sigh.

“What kind of favor, fair lady?”

“I found a request that needs some attention, but I wanted to ask you to come with me, because I don’t think I can handle this on my own.”

He blinked, an eyebrow arching, “I’ve seen you summon fireballs and lightning bolts _from your bare hands_. Not to mention that friend of yours you can summon, what do you call him? Jojo?”

She ducked her head, “I know, but… I always feel better when I know I have… well, someone like you with me.”

It was cute and he hated how cute it was. He didn’t _want to care how cute it was_ , but—

“You know, you could get a lot of people to do a lot of things, talking like that.”

She blinked up at him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, and he shook his head.

“Where is this request of yours?”

“In Riverville,” she provided with a smile. “I can pay for the Myrad, this time.”

“Planning to cling to me for dear life?” he grinned.

“Always do,” she smirked back.

* * *

Jespar stared at the flyer on the board, his arms folded, a scowl on his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Prophetess talking animatedly with the person who had posted the request, charming her way into a better payout than had originally been agreed upon.

As she reappeared at his shoulder, he turned to glare at her, eyebrow flicking up accusingly. “ _Crabs_?”

“There’s an infestation,” she blurted. “They’re breaking all the fishing boxes, and its really—”

“ _Crabs?!_ ” he repeated. “You dragged me out of the Nomad for _crabs_?”

She glanced at the rest of the vendors in the market, each giving her sympathetic looks and pointedly _not_ looking at the spat happening.

“I just thought…” she began.

“ _Crabs!_ ” he threw his hands into the air. “I’ll be in the Bee. When you’re done running your _errand_ , you can come find me.”

She started to protest, but he spun on his heel and marched toward the pub, muttering under his breath as he went. He heard a few whispered condolences given to the girl he’d left by the notice board, and he tried to drown them out with another sigh.

It was cute. But he _didn’t want it to be_.

So he was going to go drink until it _wasn’t_.

* * *

Three hours and about six bottles later, it was still cute, and he was still mad about it.

He was also, however, mostly over it (cuteness aside, she had lied, but she had done it to spend more time with him, so he _couldn’t really stay mad_ ), and he was willing to apologize to her when she showed up in the Bee.

Except that she didn’t show up.

He waited until the buzzing in his head cleared, downing a few more tankards of water to help it along, and then growled out a curse as he hurried from his table and back into the gathering night.

He asked around, getting a few cold shoulders from the people in the market that had seen the initial dispute, but a guard finally took pity on him, and told him he had seen her headed toward the shoreline; but she had not come back again.

For a moment, he panicked, imagining her being crushed between the massive pinchers of a King Crab, but he dismissed the image almost instantly, focusing on distant shoreline. He dodged around the farm with a smile to the small boy there, and crested the hill that looked down onto the beach.

There was nothing to see, at first, but sand and rocks, a few scattered crab carcasses here and there to mark where his Prophetess had made her way along the water, but there was no sign of her in person. He picked his way down the hill and onto the beach, glancing about curiously as he heard the first notes of a song begin to drift toward him on the breeze.

Instinctively, he grabbed his dagger and held it at the ready, following the song around a pile of rocks to spy the woman sitting atop them, staring out at the water. Her legs were tucked up under her, hands on her knees as she sang the lament, voice soaring and joining the sea breeze.

He had never heard her sing before.

She had hummed along with the music in the Nomad once or twice, and even teased him about not being a bad singer, but compared to her, he was _a wailing banshee_.

“You never told me you had the voice of an angel, to match that face of yours,” he called to her once she had finished the song.

She jumped, nearly toppling off the rock she was perched on, whipping her head around to stare at him.

“Oh! I was, uhm, I was about to come find you.”

“Were you, now?” he teased, climbing up beside her. “And here I thought you had run off to go sulk, or something.”

“You didn’t come out here to see if I was sulking, you came out here to see if I was alright.”

He hated that she knew him like that.

“Alright, alright, you caught me,” he chuckled, bumping her shoulder with his. “I was a little worried. If I’m being honest with you—and myself too, I suppose—the whole thing was… sort of… cute.”

Her hand found his, and rested atop it lightly.

“Just don’t make a habit out of it, alright? I’m too old for that kind of stress.”

“I’m sure your heart is just fine.”

He hated that he couldn’t stay mad at her.

“Oh, stop that, you’ll give me ideas—come on, you can buy me a drink. You owe me that much, at least,” he paused, glancing back at her with a smirk. “And maybe another song?”

“Only if you sing me one.”

“Oh, no, we both know I can’t sing—not compared to that aria from earlier,” he grimaced. “I can barely stand to hear my own voice, now. How do you manage to put up with it?”

“Because I think it’s beautiful.”

It was impulse, pure and simple, that made him lean in and steal a kiss from her cheek. He tried to fight it, to stop just short and whisper some witty one-liner, but there was no stopping it. He felt her blush as he held the kiss for a long moment, the hand under hers turning to catch at her fingers, squeezing gently as he slowly pulled away.

“Well, you would certainly know all about beauty, fair lady,” he winked. “Now, about that drink?”


	4. Something Old, Something New, Something "Borrowed", Something Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And that’s Logan, the skull; found him in the crypt my first time exploring.”  
> Jespar’s eyebrows rose as he stared at the skull. Something old, check.

The first time Jespar ever saw the inside of her house, it was… sort of an accident.

With a name like _The Jewel of Persia_ , he had been expecting a store of some kind, a shop that sold exotic spices and maybe something a bit more… _carnal_. What he found, however, was something else entirely.

The small house was tucked into the corner of the Marketplace, half-hidden behind a smelter and several other stalls, and he sort of wandered up and into on a whim. He had expected it to be locked, this late in the evening, but when it opened, he slipped inside.

At first, he thought it really must be a shop, so many oddities in one place could hardly be explained another way, but then he saw a firefly in a jar that he recognized from their jaunt to a certain man’s Abode, and he knew _exactly_ where he was.

He spied her upstairs, muttering to herself as she bent over the alchemical workshop, and smirked as he looked around the room again, this time taking in all the details.

A glass vial shattered on the balcony above him, and she swore loudly, earning a chuckle from the man below him.

“Now, now, a member of the Holy Order using that sort of language? What would the Grandmaster say?”

She yelped and swore again; peeking over the railing at him, color on her cheeks as she looked down at him.

“Oh, uhm, hello,” she managed. “How… did you get in?”

“Your door was unlocked,” he laughed. “Should it not be?”

“No, the neighborhood kids keep coming in to question me about my adventures,” she glared at the door. “Could you lock it?”

He nodded and slipped the bolt into place, looking back in time to see her descending the stairs, tucking bottles into her backpack as she cleared her throat.

“Am I intruding?” he asked, realizing suddenly that if her door had been locked, she probably hadn’t wanted company.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she finished with her bottles and cleared her throat. “Would you like the tour?”

“I would,” he smiled.

“Well, this is the, uh, living room,” she gestured to the small space. “That’s Humphrey—the green butterfly in the jar—he’s pretty nice. And that’s Logan, the skull; found him in the crypt my first time exploring.”

Jespar’s eyebrows rose as he stared at the skull.

_Something old, check._

“That’s Hilda, the yellow butterfly, she’s lovely,” she continued, gesturing to the bookshelf. “And I’m sure you remember Raymond, the firefly.”

Jespar waved to the small glowing insect in the jar.

_Something new, check._

“Oh! And then I nabbed that hammer from the ruins, when I went to help Calia and Lishari,” she gestured to the hammer on a shelf as she turned to the store room under the stairs. “And don’t get too close to that barrel, it’s from another jaunt with Calia—it explodes.”

He glanced up at the rafters, hands carefully behind his back, begging anyone listening for strength to make it through this without dying.

“Oh, and these ancient coins came from some ruins, too. I think they’re lovely,” she motioned to a display case to her right before she peeked at him over her shoulder. “Upstairs isn’t really decorated yet, but… The bedroom is?”

He grinned, “Lead the way, fair lady.”

She cleared her throat and shuffled to the tiny bedroom, plopping onto the bed as she gestured around the room. It was cozy, with a shelf above the bed that housed books, and another butterfly on the bedside table (a purple one that was identified as Hermione). As Jespar sat beside her and looked up he caught sight of a mounted crab and laughed.

“Oh, that’s Bee,” she grinned. “He was a bonus present from that mission you didn’t want to help me with.”

“Oh, well, now I’m just mad,” he chuckled. “Would I have gotten one too, if I had helped you out?”

“Probably, but there’s really no telling,” she chuckled. “Do you want one? I could get you one?”

“I don’t know where I’d put it, I don’t think the Nomad lets you decorate your rooms.”

“Pity,” she giggled. “I like collecting souvenirs.”

“Like your hammers?”

“My hammers are beautiful, don’t shit talk them.”

“I’m not!” he defended. “I was just asking!”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he had to fight the urge to kiss her. Instead he distracted himself by peeking over her shoulder.

“Is that a sweet roll?”

“I stole it,” she nodded. “Firespark never saw it coming.”

_Something “borrowed”, check._

He laughed, shaking his head, “And the books? What are those?”

“Oh, uh,” she glanced up at the shelf. “Poetry, mostly.”

“Oh?” he arched an eyebrow, standing and reaching for the shelf. “What sort of poetry?”

“Just poetry!” she squeaked, standing and blocking his path to the shelf. “And a scary story, too, and, uh, Lyrical Gushes—”

“ _Lyrical Gushes and Other Fluids_?” he read the title from the spine. “Oh, no, this I have to read.”

She tried to stop him again, reaching to grab his arm from the air, and he laughed as he caught her about the waist. She tried to slip free, and managed to spin them both around, ending with her back pressed to the wall by the display case next to her bed.

If his mouth hadn’t been so close to hers, or their bodies pressed so close, he would have had something witty to say. As it was, however, he was lost for a moment in her eyes, in the curve of her lips, and the hint of a blush blooming over her cheeks as he waited, so close he could feel the hammering of her heart.

He wanted to say something clever, make a joke about how she had gotten him into her bedroom just to manage pinned to a wall, something about how often this seemed to be happening for them, nowadays.

He wanted to _say something_ , so it could give him mouth an occupation besides hungering for the taste of her.

He was saved by a glimmer of something blue in the corner of his eye, and he glanced aside to see the gems housed in the display case beside them. There was a flawless sapphire, tucked next to a flawless garnet, and nestled beside them was a letter he recognized.

“You kept my letter?” he blurted, pulling away slowly, eyes still staring at the spidery handwriting he was ashamed to say was his. “And… Am I the sapphire?”

“Well your eyes are _really_ blue,” she muttered. “And of course I kept the letter, it was really sweet, and well… It meant a lot to me.”

He felt a dopey grin tug onto his lips as he looked slowly back at her, “And you say _I’m_ the romantic.”

She smacked his arm and he laughed.

“Well, it’s adorable,” he smirked, leaning into her space again. “Just like you.”

“Shut up, Dal’Varek.”

“But you said my voice was beautiful, remember?”

Her face flushed, and he stole another kiss from her cheek.

_Something blue, check._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun decorating my house. XD


	5. Broken Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has never seen her broken—not like this. He has seen her damaged, sure, occupational hazard of trying to save the world, but this… Jespar was not prepared for this.

He wakes her from a nightmare, the contents of which he does not ask and does not need to understand. He catches snatches of what she’s whimpering in broken whispers, and shoves down the urge to draw his dagger, instead moving to her side. He brings her back the best way he knows how, gentle touches and words, and when that doesn’t work, he pulls her into his arms and _begs her._

“Stay with me,” he breathes into her ear. “Come on, stay with me.”

She rouses with a whimper and a sharp intake of breath, eyes flying open to find his, searching desperately to be sure he’s real.

“Jespar?”

Her voice quakes, and so does his heart.

He tells himself more firmly that he does _not_ need to know what she was dreaming about.

“I’m here,” he whispers, hands still on her back and carding through her hair, eyes never leaving hers. “You okay? You… you were screaming.”

“Oh,” she doesn’t sound surprised. “Sorry… nightmare.”

“Hell of one at that,” he goes for lighthearted and misses by a mile. “Are… can I do anything?”

“Stay with me,” she echoes, shaking again as her eyes search his more, desperate and scared. “Can… please? I don’t… I can’t be alone, right now.”

“I’m here,” he smiles, and watches her shaking begin to ease. “Right here, what do you need?”

“Stay with me,” she repeats, fingers digging into his tunic with a desperate little tug.

“My, rather forward of you, don’t you think?” he grins, this time the humor comes with ease; the immediate danger behind them. “Asking a man into your bed like this? People might talk!”

“They already do,” she reminds him, managing a small smile.

It’s not much, but Jespar will take it.

“They _do_?” he feigns surprise, a hand to his chest. “What scandals are they putting forth? Do they think I’ve stolen what little honor the Prophetess had left?”

She smacks his arm, a flush blooming on her cheeks as she presses into him, her nose pressed to his neck as she breathes him in, fingers digging under his tunic and chain shirt to find his skin.

He shivers, a flush of his own rising up his neck, and he shoves it down as he continues to talk, aware how much she likes the sound of his voice.

“Do they think you’ve stolen mine?” he smirks, leaning in to whisper against her ear. “Lishari must have spread the word that you were hanging off of me in the temple—if even that isn’t a sacred space, where can a simple sell-sword be safe?”

“With me,” she manages, lips whispering against his pulse. “I’ll always protect you, Jespar. If you are by my side, you will be safe. I promise you.”

He feels something in him shudder and he tries to stop himself from bolting for the door. He knows she means it, she always means what she says in the stolen moments they share away from the others, but he _doesn’t want her to_. He doesn’t want to know how much he means to her, because she’s starting to mean the same to him, and _he doesn’t want her to._

He pulls away far enough to look at her, to tell her she’s being ridiculous and she should know it’s _his_ job to keep _her_ safe, but when he sees her, words fail him. The quip dies on his tongue, the smirk fading from his lips as he sees the look on her face.

He has never seen her _broken_ —not like this. He has seen her damaged, sure, occupational hazard of trying to save the world, but this… Jespar was not prepared for this.

Her eyes are rimmed with tears, and her lips are pressed tight in a thin line, her hands trembling where they press into his side, hands still cold against his warmer skin. She clings to him like a trembling leaf in the last days of autumn, refusing to fall and be swept away by the chilling wind causing her to shiver.

“Oh, Fair Lady,” he whispers, shifting to catch her face in his hand, thumb stroking over her cheek. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I don’t,” she responds without hesitation, leaning into his touch. “I will burn the world to keep you safe.”

He knows she can—he’s seen her do it—he’s seen her create whirlwinds and firestorms with nothing but a whisper and a wave of her hand. He’s seen her _raise the dead_ and summon monsters.

He’s seen her _be so much stronger_ , _wilder, unwavering—_

“Then I’ll hold you to that,” he whispers. “Next time Tealor threatens me, I’ll jump behind you, you can protect me.”

“To my last,” she breaths out in a broken whisper. “Always, Jespar. Like every day is the last.”

He feels his heart shatter, and he knows now it’s too late to stop himself from caring.

He cares for her, about her— _he cares, dammit_ —and he cannot deny it any longer.

He kisses the top of her head and pulls her into his arms, hushing her softly as he begins to hum her favorite song, closing his eyes against tears of his own.

 _He loves her_.


	6. How Did It End Up Like This (It Was Only A Kiss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Put simply, he wasn’t planning on it, when it happened.
> 
> He told himself if he was going to kiss her, it would be intentional, it would be perfect. It would be the kind of moment bards sung songs about and wove into legend. It was going to be a one-of-a-kind kiss. And then it happened by accident.
> 
> Well, sort of by—no, completely by accident.

Jespar tried, from the point of realization onward, to distance himself from her, to keep her at arm’s length as much as possible, but there was really only so much he could do when they were working so closely together. She was too curious, _too damn cute_ , and he couldn’t stop himself from falling into the same pattern as always—eager to see her operate and obliterate the villain of the day, eager to spend time with her, share stories, _hear her sing_.

By the Wise Hermit, he was _addicted_ to her voice _._

It didn’t help, of course, that he was usually the one with her when she saw things she had never seen before.

He was there when she first saw the snow in the Frostcliff Mountains, dashing about in it and pelting him with half-formed snowballs that he could only laugh at and lob back at her—the way she giggled and touched the snow with bare hands just to feel it was enough to make him grab her hands and breathe warmth back into them as she blushed—her breath coming in little clouds of white mist as she huddled close to him for warmth and teased him about his nose turning red, even as hers did the same.

He was there when she first saw the Crystal Forest, her mouth hanging open as she stared up at the glittering trees and breathed out words of praise as she stood in the middle of the road and spun on the spot, taking it all in—the way her eyes caught the glittering light and _danced_ was enough to make him want to kiss her then and there—and gushing to him about how stunning it was, even as they fought their way to the temple.

He was there when she first saw the ancient Undertrain, eyes and mouth wide as she touched and trailed her fingers over the intricate inlays, whispering in reverent tones over how beautiful and intricate it was—the way she marveled over the beauty and ingenuity of the design, and the way she praised his ability to make it work, was enough to make him feel heat creep into his chest and try to push it down once more—taking to the new surroundings like a fish to water.

It was the train that did it, though—it was the last straw in a fight he was never going to win, and when he suggested they sleep until they reached their destination, he had every intention of doing just that and _nothing else_.

Put simply, he _wasn’t_ _planning_ _on it, when it happened_.

He told himself _if_ he was going to kiss her, it would be _intentional_ , it would be _perfect._ It would be the kind of moment bards sung songs about and wove into legend. It was _going_ to be a one-of-a-kind kiss. And then it happened by accident.

Well, sort of by— _no, completely by accident_.

He woke to her crying softly, barely audible over the gentle rumble of the train, and he felt his heart jump at the sound. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to wake himself up, grabbing for the dagger he left under his pillow.

“Prophetess?” he mumbled into the darkness, reaching out blindly for her in the bed before him. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Nightmare,” she managed, finding his hand in the dark and squeezing it. “Sorry I woke you, I’ll be fine—get some rest.”

Oh, no _that would not do_ —

“Come here,” he said instead, returning the dagger to its hiding place, giving her hand a tug. “This bed can fit two, come on, come here.”

She resisted, mumbling something about not wanting to disturb him, and he snorted.

“Fuck that,” he growled. “If I had wanted to keep sleeping, I would have gone back to sleep. But I don’t want to go back to sleep if you’re still crying, so _come here_.”

She did, then, crawling from under her covers and onto his bed, moving far too easily in the dark for his liking. He rearranged himself, in order to give her room, as the train lurched suddenly, and she lost her balance, letting out a little yelp as she surged forward, slamming into him.

He tried to catch her, as best he could in the darkness, and managed to wrap his arms around her shoulders as they collided, a question on the tip of his tongue as her lips met his.

Heat rushed through him in a flash as his brain belatedly processed the sensation for what it was— _a kiss_.

He should have pulled back, he should have stopped it right then and _apologized_ , he should have _done something_ —

But all he could do was savor the moment, fleeting as it was, memorize the curve of her mouth against his, the texture of her lips, the slight gasp she let out as she realized what had happened, her hand splayed across his bare chest, against his hammering heart.

As soon as she started to pull away, he released her, helping her up and onto the bed beside him, donning a smirk to cover his embarrassment.

“Well, when I invited you over here, I had no idea you would take to the idea so enthusiastically.”

“Jespar, I’m sorry, I didn’t,” she gulped, tugging the covers up over her head. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, the train—it was an accident.”

“Accident or not, I’m not complaining,” honesty was the best policy, he decided. “That was, well, unexpected, but certainly not… unwanted?”

_Right? You wanted that too? Please say you wanted that too, by the Wise Hermit, tell me you—_

His panic was assuaged by a giggle as she remerged from the covers, hand splaying back over his chest.

“Is it the surprise making your heart, pound, then?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me, Jespar.”

He wanted to, _damn did he want to_ , but one kiss was enough for the night, or neither one of them would be sleeping.

“Never mind, don’t,” he chuckled and settled back against the pillow. “Sing me to sleep, fair lady, let me fall asleep to you.”

“You wish,” she chuckled, shifting closer. “Good night, Jespar, and… thank you.”

“For the kiss?” he teased, still unsure and hoping _that it was alright_.

“Well, that too,” she kissed over his heart and he had to resist the urge to hold her there and curl around her. “But also for letting me sleep next to you.”

“Any time,” he found himself saying, unbidden but honest. “I hate to think of you crying yourself to sleep when you could be singing me to sleep instead.”

She nudged him in the ribs and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he pulled away again, resolving to keep his lips to himself for the rest of the night.

“Sweet dreams, fair lady,” he managed instead, her breathing already deepening and evening out into the rhythm of sleep. “Wake me if you need me.”

Her hands tightened against his waist and she mumbled, “I’ll always need you, Jespar.”

And by _The Prophet’s Ass_ that was not fair.


	7. Every Cloud has a Silver Lining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Remember when I came to find you,” how could he forget. “And you were here, with those girls, and that man?”  
> “Yes?”  
> “He looked an awful lot like you, you know,” oh, he knew. “Was that intentional, or do you just like tall, fair, and muscled?”

The accidental kiss was the least of his worries, as it turned out.

From then on, it was all... _off_.

Every time he went with her on a mission, it felt like there was something he should be saying, something he should do, but he could never bring himself to do it. He shoved down the urge to pull her aside in the same alcove she had caught him in the Sun Temple and just spill his guts about the whole thing.

About why he was so awkward, why he couldn't find the words to say how he felt, why he hadn't kissed her again (properly, this time), and why he was so against letting her leave his sight.

That, of course, was after his sister, after the horror that was being burned alive and coming back from the grave. After he went on a bender that he should have died again from, and instead was saved by her.

That was after a lot of things he would rather not admit to, and a few he was going to pretend hadn't happened (mostly to help save face), but it wasn't until an expedition to the Undercity, where they passed the Marketplace and she threw him a very curious, knowing look, that things really took a turn.

“You keep looking at me,” he pointed out, dodging around a merchant with a cart full of wares. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I was just wondering how long you were going to keep avoiding me for.”

“I'm here, aren't I?”

They both knew that wasn't what she meant, but neither of them was going to say anything about it.

“You there!”

Both of them jumped as a tall woman with short-clipped hair emerged from a storefront, arms folded over dark armor as she approached, a shady character if Jespar had ever seen one.

“You might think you can get away with whatever you want to, round here, but we do still have rules,” she sneered at the Prophetess. “So, cough it up.”

“Cough what up?” Jespar whispered. “Did you steal something?”

“What? No! I mean, yes, but not recently!” She hissed back. “I'm not coughing up anything!”

“Then you'll have to pay!”

Jespar grabbed her hand and ran.

He didn't think twice about it, about the fact that he hadn't touched her since, well, since she'd dragged him out of the Silver Cloud. He didn't think about anything except the glint of steel he'd seen at the shady character's side, the wrath in her eyes, the bloodlust ready to be sated.

Jespar grabbed her hand and ran.

She followed, laughing as they wove through the labyrinthine streets of the Undercity, dodging shoppers and serfs alike, making for— _oh no_.

Jespar didn't have time to think about where he was headed, he moved on instinct and bolted down street after street, charging deeper until he was shoving open the door to the Silver Cloud, ducking down a corridor and into an open room, slamming the door behind them, leaning against it, panting.

It wasn't until then, _right then_ , that Jespar realized she was pressed against him, panting softly as she caught her breath, face flushed and delighted, eyes sparking with mischief, and he fell in love all over again.

“You'll be the death of me,” he managed, heat tingling up the back of his neck and trickling down into his belly.

“You like a little danger, don't lie.”

He couldn't, even if he tried.

“But, now that we're here, I do have a question.”

“And what's that, Fair Lady?”

“Remember when I came to find you,” _how could he forget_. “And you were here, with those girls, and that man?”

“Yes?”

“He looked an awful lot like you, you know,” _oh, he knew_. “Was that intentional, or do you just like tall, fair, and muscled?”

“I prefer tall, dark, and handsome, but you should know that,” he winked.

“Well, in your women, sure, that was obvious,” she grinned, pressing him back into the door. “But in your men? Do you like what you see in the mirror _that_ much?”

“If I do, are you going to judge me for it?”

“Certainly not, I think you're the most handsome man in Arc,” she giggled, hands on his waist now, pressing him to the door. “But I'm curious.”

“So was I,” he admitted, trying and failing to sound casual. “There's a certain... freedom, in letting yourself go, like that. In letting your imagination wander...”

“Ever wander onto what it would be like to hire him again?”

He blinked. _What_.

“What?”

"But, you could invite me along, this time,” the cocky smirk was gone, replaced with a shy smile. “If you wanted, that is—of course, if you don't, then—“

Something hot and ugly boiled up in his belly, clawing at his insides as it reared its head and screamed.

“I don't want anyone else to touch you—not like that, not—” he caught himself, caught his hands clenched against the door, the bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of someone else with their hands on her. “Only if I knew you would come back to me, after all was said and done.”

She looked surprised, at first, and then a smile curled onto her lips, a softness easing into her touch as she slid her hands from his waist to his back, pulling him slowly into a hug.

“Don't be silly, Jespar,” she whispered, fingers digging into his tunic as she held him tight. “I wouldn't want to come back to anyone _but_ you.”

Something inside him clicked into place, and he wrapped his arms around her in return, burying his face in her hair, breathing her in. He still had mountains of emotions to sort through and climb, but this, at the very least, was back to the way it was meant to be.

“Are you planning to keep me in here for the rest of the night, or can we go back to hunting down bad guys?”

He laughed, kissing her cheek, and slowly released her, “Well, if I didn't think we'd get into even more trouble for not paying for the room, I might.”

She flushed, and he chalked it up as a win, pulling away far enough to grin up at her.

“The real question is, are you planning to keep me pinned to the door, or can we sneak back out?”

“I suppose I can let you slip away,” she smiled, suddenly all seriousness again. “But don't go far from me, alright?”

He gave a quick nod, not quite meeting her eye.

“Alright.”

 


	8. Dealing With Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I fought a dragon!” She laughed, practically vibrating with excitement, holding out a dagger to him. “A real dragon!”  
> “You—“ he stopped himself, caught between curiosity and anger, wanting to ask her what it was like and berate her for going off alone. He settled for frustrated and took the dagger, hand smoothing over the bone handle, a crack forming in his resolve as he realized she had made it by hand—a dragon bone dagger, just for him.

In the days following the second incident in the Silver Cloud, Jespar made a habit of walking her home. If he couldn't stay by her side all of the time, he could at least stay by it for as long as possible.

This, of course, led to even more whispers running around the temple, and more looks from Lishari that had nothing to do with whatever it was Jespar had just said, and everything to do with how close he was standing to the Prophetess.

It lead to Calia threatening him _again_ , and far more drinking than was strictly healthy, just to keep himself from saying something dumb when he was around her for more than an hour or two at the time.

It would have been fine, he told himself, if he hadn't loved her.

If he hadn't loved her, he would have fucked her, and called it a day—gotten it out of his system and carried on with business as usual. He would have fooled around a few more times, if she had been amenable, maybe even stayed the night with her, woke her with breakfast in the morning, but it never would have devolved into this spiral of self-loathing he was currently trapped in, because he had _feelings_ , dammit, and they demanded to be addressed.

Jespar, in all his infinite wisdom, addressed them with a bottle of liquor twice his age and told them to shut the hell up.

He kept that habit up for about a week, until one day when he woke on the street, curled up by the steps to her house. Calia was standing over him, an eyebrow arched and a hand on her hip as she looked at him expectantly. In her other hand was a bucket of water, and Jespar did _not_ want to know what that was for.

“You done moping out here?” she prompted.

“Never.”

“Are you at least done for _now_?” she sighed. “I have something to see her about.”

“What?”

“She asked me to come by,” Calia shrugged. “Said she had something exciting to share with me.”

Jespar was instantly curious, but his stomach was doing a very good impression of a stormy sea, and he doubted he could stand, let alone face the Prophetess.

“Clean up,” Calia set the bucket of water down before him. “I should be done by then.”

She strode into the house, clapping him on the shoulder as she passed, and Jespar hauled himself to his feet, dragging the bucket over toward the well nestled beside the house. He heard the Prophetess welcome Calia, a trill of laughter before their tones turned hushed and conspiratorial, and Jespar's curiosity got the better of him.

He washed his face and took a long drink of water, fishing his pipe and weed from his pouch before he crept around to the side of her house where a window was open, perching on the low wall outside it, their voices soft, but distinguishable.

“So, what about you and Jespar,” Calia was asking, voice amused. “Lishari wanted me to ask how he is in bed.”

“He's...fine?”

Jespar felt something in him tense, going rigid and... _offended_ at the implication.

“He doesn't snore or kick, or anything.”

And then that something in him died, along with his dignity, because _of course that would be her answer_.

“Wait, no, I mean...” Calia's voice dropped, and Jespar imagined she was blushing. “I mean, you know... how _is_ he?”

“If you want to know how he's doing, you'll have to ask him.”

“Oh for—I mean sex!” Calia squeaked. “How is sex with him?”

Jespar would have laughed, if he hadn't been so mortified.

“Oh!” and it sounded like his Fair Lady was blushing too, now. “Oh, uh, I wouldn't—I mean... I don't know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he hasn't—we haven't—you know...” she trailed off into silence, and Jespar wanted to go throw himself into her well.

“You mean, all this time, and you two haven't even—I mean, _at all_?”

“No.”

“Well why not?”

“I don't know,” his lady sighed, and her voice got louder as she leaned against the wall by the window. “I want to, I've given him chances—given him hints... I just don't think he's interested. Maybe I'm not his type, or maybe... maybe I'm just not what he wants right now.”

He remembered all the horrible things he had said in the Silver Cloud, bile rising in the back of his throat as he closed his eyes and wished he could take them all back.

 _There's nothing special about you_.

But that had been a lie—one of the worst he'd ever told, and he realized now how deeply it had hurt her.

“That can't be right, he chases after you like a lost dog.”

“It's his job, isn't it?” There was a bark of laughter, devoid of mirth. “I guess that just makes me another payday.”

“I don't think that's true,” Calia assured her. “I know him by reputation, mostly, but getting to know him these past few months—I would say there's a lot there that wasn't before, and I think that's thanks to you. He wouldn't have stuck around for so long if there wasn't something here to keep his interest.”

“But are you sure it's me?”

“Are you sure it isn't?” There was a long moment of silence before Calia broke it again. “You should talk to him.”

“I've tried, but he just keeps dodging me,” she sighed. “If I could get a straight answer out of him, I would!”

Calia laughed, a little too loudly, and Jespar tensed up as he glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of her in the window.

“He'll come around,” Calia winked at him. “I'm sure of that.”

“If you see him, can you have him come by?” The Prophetess prompted. “I want to show him my prize too.”

“I'll do that.” Calia grinned. “I should be going, though, more to do at the Temple, before the day's out.”

“Oh, of course, of course. Let me know if there's anything I can do.”

“Thank you, Prophetess. I will.”

Jespar slipped back to the well, giving them a moment of privacy, and waited for Calia to exit before he glanced up at her.

“You planning to make this right?” She asked, folding her arms.

“Yes.”

“Good, then go do it.” She smiled, nodding to the bucket by his feet. “And take that with you, she needs it.”

“For what?”

“To wash off the blood.”

Jespar's stomach dropped as Calia walked off, and he had to take a moment before his legs would actually move. He moved on instinct, stooping to pick up the bucket and lurch forward toward the door, managing a half-hearted knock before he opened it and swayed inside.

She was sitting by the window, a small bowl of water already in front of her, and she looked a _mess_. There were long gouges in her armor, claw marks from some great beast, and she was drenched in blood. There were cuts to her face and hands, and a gash on her arm was still weeping blood. The end of her cloak was tattered and singed, an inch or so burned off. She looked up as he walked in, smiling brightly.

“Oh, Jespar! Nice to see you!” she beamed, wobbling to her feet. “I was just looking for you! I made you something!”

“What in _the fuck_ happened to you?” He demanded, slamming the bucket down.

“I fought a dragon!” She laughed, practically vibrating with excitement, holding out a dagger to him. “A real dragon!”

“You—“ he stopped himself, caught between curiosity and anger, wanting to ask her what it was like and berate her for going off alone. He settled for frustrated and took the dagger, hand smoothing over the bone handle, a crack forming in his resolve as he realized she had made it by hand— _a dragonbone dagger_ , just for him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah!” she laughed, but it tapered off into a wince. “I mean—mostly.”

“Mostly?” He repeated, folding his arms, the dagger tucked into his belt and for the moment forgotten. “Sit your ass down and let me look at you.”

She collapsed back into the chair, letting out a sigh as she relaxed, a shy smile on her lips as he knelt before her and grabbed the rags off the table to her left, dipping one in the water before he brought it to her injured arm, cleaning away the blood.

“This will need to be bandaged.”

“I wanted to take my armor off, first,” she managed. “But, well, I couldn't, uhm, couldn't get it off on my own.”

_Oh._

“Want some help?” He shot for playful, and somehow managed to hit it, earning a giggle and a rise of color in her cheeks. “I'm always one for helping a lovely lady out of her clothing.”

She nudged him with her foot, and he grinned.

“I, uh, I owe you an apology,” he began, realizing there was no time like the present. “I said some... well, some pretty terrible things, when you found me at the Cloud, and...”

“Jespar,” she interrupted. “It's alright.”

“It really isn't.”

She looked down at her hands, fiddling with the straps on her bracers, and he took a deep breath as he continued.

“You're more than just a pretty face, to me. You _are_ special, more special then I think I wanted to admit, because admitting that would be admitting I had feelings for you, and that—I wasn't ready to do that.” He took a deep breath, sitting back on his heels as he began to unlace her boots, working slowly and methodically. “It's been a long time since I let myself feel this...this strongly, about someone, and I wasn't really...sure how to handle that, again.”

Her bracer's hit the table with a dull thumb, and he glanced up to see here hands, dried blood under her nails and cuts to her palms from the blade of her sword—defensive wounds.

 _How fitting_.

“But now... now I think I was dumb not to tell you to begin with—I was lashing out, when I said those things, and—I'm so _sorry_.” He finished with the laces, sliding her boots off, dipping another cloth into the water before he began to wash her feet. “And I understand if you don't want to forgive me, if you're not ready to, or if you even want to—that's your choice, but... I care about you, and I want to... I want you to know that. I want you to know how much I care about you, and how much I want this. Whatever, whatever _this_ is, I want it. With you.”

He doesn't look up until he's done washing her feet, but when he does, he sees the tear tracks down her face, and the blood oozing from her broken lip, reopened from where she had bit her mouth shut to keep something in. She looks so fragile, and it doesn't suit her—she summons _fireballs and fiends,_ for fuck's sake, she should look like marble and sandstone and precious gems, not paper and dust and broken glass.

“Jespar, I—“ she stops herself, rubs a hand over her eyes, smudges more blood and dirt across her face, and shakes her head. “You're such an idiot, you know that? All this time, I thought... I thought I was just...”

“Just a job?” He offered, not quite meeting her eye. “You started off as one, but... but you're so much more than that, now.”

A broken laugh slipped out as she shook her head again, glaring at him. “You're still an ass.”

“I admit it, yes, I am.”

“Come here.”

He leaned forward, and she slapped him.

He coughed up a laugh as she returned her hand to his cheek, pulling him up and into a kiss—a proper one, soft and eager, that left him tongue-tied and gasping for air as she pulled away.

“You left, last time, before I could slap you like you deserved.” She whispered. “But I—I care about you too.”

He dropped his head to rest in her lap and let out another laugh. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes, you are.” She curled around him, wincing as she bent double to whisper into his ear. “But you're _my_ idiot.”

“For as long as you will have me, Fair Lady.” He whispered back. “For as long as you can put up with me.”

“I can certainly put up with you long enough to help me out of this armor.”

He laughed, straightening up, and grinned at her. “Oh, I would be more than happy to help.”

She shooed him back, and he stood, helping her to her feet, still wobbly on her own. She held onto the table as he undid the ties of her armor, sliding slowly off her. There was another gash to her side, and from where her shirt had ridden up, he could see a dark bruise blooming over her ribs.

“I should wash these.” She mumbled, giving a little tug to the shirt. “They smell like death.”

“Well, I can help you out of those, too.” He paused, catching her eye, voice soft and sincere. “If you want that?”

_Please say you do, say there's a chance, the tiniest chance, that you want this as badly as I do—_

“Well I can't very well get out of them myself, now can I?” She teased.

“You're an accomplished woman, I wouldn't put much past you.”

“No?” She grinned, and he felt a fire ignite behind his ribs at the sight, warming him through as she leaned in. “What might you think is beyond me, hmm?”

_Nothing—the world is yours for the taking, all you have to do is reach out and ask for it—_

“Well, I don't think you could out-talk me at a bar,” he teased. “But other than _that_...”

She kissed him again, pulling back after a flash of contact that had him gasping, and then again, and again, and _again_ , always just a quick press of her lips to his, a burst of heat and contact before she pulled away again.

“Help me out of these clothes, and I might just best you at something else.”

Oh, by The Wise Hermit, she knew how to push _all_ of his buttons.

“Are you planning on telling anyone how I am in bed?”

_He should really learn to keep his mouth shut, dammit—_

“I don't know, that depends on whether it's worth bragging about.”

His hands skated up her side, wary of her injuries, the rational part of him still able to consider such things telling him this should wait. She'd just _killed_ a _dragon_ , she should rest before she tried to do anything else.

“You should rest.” He found himself saying suddenly, much to his chagrin. “You'll just open your wounds if—“

Warm, bright light filled the space between them, her hands and eyes suddenly glowing as she cast a spell, her wounds sealing and mending, the blood slithering back into the wounds as she healed herself.

“Jespar, if you leave without making love to me, I will tell Lishari that you couldn't get it up, and she _will_ spread that around.”

Oh, well, if she wanted to play _dirty_.

“Fair Lady, would you do me the greatest honor of joining me in bed?”

“By the _Prophet's Ass_ , I thought you'd never ask!”

He laughed along with her, taking her face in his hands, kissing her again, soundly, like he wanted to keep doing it for the rest of his life, and took a quick step back.

“But first, this,” he pulled the dagger from his belt, looking it over. “You made this? For me?”

Color rose in her cheeks, as though making love was somehow more commonplace than making a _dagger_. “I—I wanted to—” She faltered and sighed. “I wanted to give you something, and—I wanted it to be useful.”

 _I wanted to be useful. I wanted you to know I was worth the time_.

Jespar let out a shaky breath and looked the dagger over again. The bone was elegantly carved, a roaring mouth with jaws wide swallowing the hilt of the blade, the body forming the grip, the tail a curved end to wrap around his hand. Its eyes were mismatched, and his heart skipped a beat or three as he recognized the jewels from the ones she kept in her bedroom. Colors that matched their eyes.

“It is beyond words.” He croaked out at last. “More beautiful and deadly than anything I have ever seen—except maybe you, mydame.”

She smiled, and it came easily, bright and warm as the light she had used to heal herself, healing him instead with the expression.

“Now, I believe I was going to help you get out of those clothes, wasn't I?” He tucked the dagger away, grinning widely. “Or have you changed your mind?”

She surged forward, pulling him into a crushing kiss, hands desperate as they tugged at his clothing and ran through his hair, looking for purchase and desperate for contact. He hummed his reply, finally— _finally, finally—_ sliding his hands under her shirt and feeling her soft skin. They fit together like two lost pieces of the same machine, and in his heart he knew this was what he had wanted all along, since he had found her in the bushes on the mountainside.

A knock and a cry had them ripping apart as a guard called into the house.

“Prophetess! My Lord Arantheal requires your presence at the Temple immediately!”

She sighed, looking to Jespar, the most apologetic smile upon her lips.

“Tell him I am on my way.”

“Right away, Mydame!”

“Damn that man.” Jespar growled. “His timing could _not_ be worse.”

“Is this really a now or never deal?”

 _Gods, no, of course not, its a now and_ forever _deal don't you see how much I love—_

“Well, it would have been nice to finally do what everyone seems to think we have been.” He said instead, stepping gingerly away, giving her space to replace her armor. “You just slew a dragon, what better way to celebrate?”

She laughed, and he felt the knot of discontent in his belly begin to unwind.

“Soon?”

He grinned, stepping forward to kiss her once more, soft and easy, the way lovers would. “Soon.”

 


	9. All For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No more running. Not from you, or feelings, or responsibility--no running from the big, scary things. No more running."

Of course, with Jespar's luck being what it was, Tealor's request for the Prophetess' presence turned into another string of missions, misadventures, and near-misses. And it was all too much, without being enough. Too close and also miles apart. It was too much of the same thing, skirting the subject and trying to keep his hands to himself--keep his guard up so he wouldn't fall deeper, wouldn't  _care more_.

It was watching her suddenly pass out on their way through the woods, putting her fingers to her forehead and calling ' _be right back!'_

"Oh, shit!" Jespar yelped, rushing forward to catch her, sliding onto his knees as she dropped into his arms. "You'll be the death of me, Prophetess."

He could have sworn he saw her smile.

"Do you  _like_ giving me heart attacks? Is that it?" He asked, arranging her into a more comfortable position. "Silly, really, the damn thing is yours already, I don't know why you're so rough on it."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he brushed the hair back from her face.

"Look at me--I can't even say that to you when you're conscious--have to wait until you're out cold in the woods, using me as a pillow..."

He glanced around, made sure they were still alone, and bent to kiss her forehead.

"I'd never have the guts to say it to you out loud, of course, not when you could hear me...but give me time; give me a chance, I'll pull myself together soon, I promise."

He took a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he released it, curling around her.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," he whispered. "I've been so...so misused by life--and mostly it's my own damn fault. I ran away from responsibilities, from feelings, from...from love. I ran away from  _you_ \--the best and most beautiful thing in my life. But not anymore--no more running. Not from you, or feelings, or responsibility--no running from the big, scary things. _No more running._ I hate to admit it, but--but I need you, Fair Lady. You remind me what I'm fighting for,  _why_ I fight--why this sack of shit world is worth saving--it's...it's all you. For you. Because of you."

 _Because I love you_.

The words stuck in his throat, and he tried to get them out. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, tried to say the hardest words in his  _miserable life--_

He felt a tear slide against his palm as he held her face in his hands, his eyes snapping open as he looked at her.

She was crying, silent tears falling from her eyes, and Jespar started to wipe them away, panic gripping him.

"Prophetess?"

"I need you too, Jespar," she whispered.

"You--you were listening?"

"I came back part way through and--and I didn't want to interrupt."

The fragile part of him was offended.

The rest of him was happy she hadn't said anything--it had been so  _good_ to get it out, get it off his chest, and if he'd known she was listening, he never would have been able to get it all out.

"So you know I'm an ass, then," he prompted.

"Known that for a while, honestly," she smirked. "But more importantly, I know I love you."

The words stayed stuck in his throat, refused to move, and he  _tried so hard_ to say them.

"Just thought you should know," she smiled, unoffended by his inability to say it back. "So are you planning to hold me like this all day?"

"The thought occurred to me," he grinned, thankful for a shift in subject. "But we should probably keep going, if we want to reach the village before nightfall."

"Mm, but  _camping_ with  _you_ ," she grinned. "Alone, in the elements, huddling together for warmth..."

"The wolves baring down on us," he continued.

"Killjoy."

"Darling, if I make love to you, the first time will  _not_ be on the roadside in the  _middle of nowhere_."

"It could be romantic."

"If there weren't skeletons running around, or we had a tent, sure, but there are and we don't, so  _no_."

"Oh, fine," she huffed, sitting up. "Then let's get going."

"Oh, well, if you insist," he smirked. "I was planning to at least kiss you first."

"Why, Mysir!" She feigned shock. "A kiss? How forward of you!"

"Well, Mydame, you are too enchanting to ignore," he purred, leaning back on his hands with a grin. "I simply cannot resist you."

"Oh, you can't, can you?" She challenged with a grin. "Then I suppose you had better kiss me, to spare us both later suffering."

**Author's Note:**

> Enderal and All Related Characters belong to: SureAI


End file.
